


Alcohol is Bad For You

by unapologetic_noises



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Dean Winchester - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Season/Series 01, Supernatural - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unapologetic_noises/pseuds/unapologetic_noises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No. This couldn't have happened. They didn't. Did they? No. Hell no. There was no way. No fucking way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alcohol is Bad For You

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot. Inspired by a fic that I read years ago and developed from an old fic I wrote around the same time (a Naruto fic of all things). Being a Destiel type of guy, Wincest isn't really up my alley but I thought I'd give it a try. It turned out way longer than I thought it would but I'm beyond glad I finally finished it before I lost all interest whatsoever. Hope you guys enjoy. Feedback is appreciated as always.
> 
> Just a small side note, as I was writing this, I had season one on my mind so I like to think that its set during that season. Season one Sam just seems more like a bottom to me *spoiler alert* ahaha. Although it honestly doesn't matter. ok. enough of my rambling.

He slept a cold, dreamless sleep. The bed was hard, made his back ache although that ache was the least of his worries. Every joint in his body ached. It hurt to move. And his head-- oh God his head throbbed like Hell. He had been awake for a good ten minutes but was afraid to open his eyes, fearing that even his eyelids would ache. He made the mistake of finally opening them. Blinding sunlight greeted him, made his eyes sting. The clock sat on the nightstand.  
  
12 noon.  
  
What the hell?  
  
Sam _never_ slept this late. He sat up, only to have the sensation of a train slamming into him at full speed. This damn headache. And now he felt dizzy. Felt naseous. A disgusting taste lingered in his dry mouth. And even more puzzling: he was naked. Sam glanced over at the other bed, weakly calling out to his older brother, hoping that maybe Dean knew what exactly he did last night. All of it was a wall for Sam. He couldn't remember a thing. Dean didn't answer him. As a matter of fact Dean's bed was empty. Perfectly made actually.  
  
Sam froze.  
  
There was someone else in his bed, asleep under the covers. Sam hoped, _prayed_ that whoever this was wasn't who he thought it was. Maybe it was some chick he picked up at a bar last night. Maybe even a hooker. Or maybe this was all a dream. One big illusion. With a hand that shook with the guilt of a serial killer, Sam pulled the cover from the body that slept beside him. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. His heart stopped. He jerked back with such sheer force that he tumbled out of bed, slamming onto the floor, naked and exposed, taking the blanket, clock and whatever else laid on the nightstand with him. The thud woke up Sam's guest and the younger Winchester found himself staring up into dreary, puffy green eyes.  
  
Dean.  
  
No. This couldn't have happened. They didn't. Did they? No. Hell no. There was no way. "No fucking way."  
  
No words were exchanged between the brothers. Just the look of fear from Sam and the look of utter confusion and disorientation that was plastered all over the elder Winchester's face. Dean finally pieced it all together. He realized he was naked. Realized that he had slept in the same bed as his little brother. Saw the beer cans. How could he have _not_ seen them? They littered the floor all over this ratty ass motel room. But he didn't dare accept what clearly had happened. He wouldn't accept it. Wouldn't admit to it in a million years. He would take this to his grave.  
  
Sam saw the denial on Dean's face. This was just like him. He knew his brother was just gonna act like nothing happened. As if it wasn't already right there in their faces.  
  
"Dean..." Sam called his brother's name only to trail off. His throat burned. It hurt to even attempt to speak.  
  
"No," Dean glared at Sam. "Don't fucking say a word. Nothing happened. Got it?"  
  
"Dean we're not gonna act like this didn't happen!"  
  
"We are because it _didn't_ happen." As far as Dean was concerned, it didn't. But he knew Sam and his need to talk everything out. His brother wasn't gonna shut up about it.  
  
Dean stood up, only to fall back onto the bed, muttering curses to himself as the dizziness and nausea got him too. Under any other circumstances the hunter could hold his alcohol like nobody's business. He could down beer after beer like no problem and still wake up the next morning with no sign of a hangover at all. How much did he drink last night?  
  
One second Dean laid face down on the stripped bed, bare ass exposed to the stale air of the motel room, then Sam saw him make a mad dash to the bathroom. He heard him vomit. Sam did his best to block out the sound as well as the mental picture, fearing that he would start blowing chunks too. He held his aching head in his hands, sighing. No matter how hard he clawed at his mental capacity, he couldn't find the slightest memory of the night before. After mustering the strength to stand up, Sam followed him, room spinning. He felt his face flush red, shame building up inside him.  
  
His ass was sore.  
  
Very sore.  
  
Sam shivered. He suddenly felt sick again. Dean leaned against the toilet bowl, head still hovering over it. Sam saw him tense up upon his entrance.  
  
"Relax," Sam rasped. "I'm not gonna talk about it." Somehow realizing that his big brother had fucked him in a drunken blackout made Sam want to forget about the situation just as much as Dean did. Maybe it was better for them both.   
  
Dean flushed the toilet, still groaning from the hangover. Sam smirked, getting odd satisfaction from realizing that he was handling this much better than his brother. Dean stood, wobbling and unsteady.  
  
"You might need this." Sam handed him the bottle of mouthwash. Dean shot him a glare, snatching the bottle away and downing at least half of it, spitting out whatever he hadn't swallowed.  
  
"Put some fucking clothes on." Dean muttered as he walked out of the bathroom. Both Winchesters were still naked. Sam minded his own business and used the meager amount of mouthwash that Dean left to wash this sick taste out of his mouth. He glanced at the mirror and saw Dean standing in the doorway, staring at his ass.  
  
Sam dropped the empty bottle, whipping around. "Dean, what the h--"  
  
Dean suddenly had his hands on Sam's shoulders, positioning him, back facing the mirror.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Sam questioned in complete confusion.  
  
"Just look." Dean's tone was blank. It slightly alarmed Sam. The younger of the two twisted his neck to glance at the mirror, at whatever Dean wanted him to see. His eyes widened in horror.  
  
On Sam's lower back, drunkenly scrawled in black Sharpie:  
  
 _ **MY BITCH**_  
  
Sam glanced at Dean, unsure of what to say about this. His brother's expression was unreadable. Dean grimaced in the mirror, examining the dark circles that were all over his neck. He returned Sam's look of uncertainty, fear, and confusion. Dean suddenly growled, clenched his teeth.  
  
"Get out." He ordered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I gotta piss...get out!" Dean pushed Sam in the direction of the door. His younger brother exited, Dean slamming the door behind him. He returned to the mirror, having no urge to relieve himself at all. He continued to examine his current state over and over, fingers poking every hickey that Sam had created. Dean had the urge to throw up again. His sweet little intelligent Stanford attending baby brother had done this too him. Hickies. Bite marks. The fucker's teeth had been in his flesh.  
  
And there his brother stood outside the door, knocking. "Dean, come on. Let's get showered and just grab some coffee and a bite to eat okay? This doesn't have to be a big deal."  
  
What the hell was he trying to do? Not ten minutes ago, Sam was trying to "talk it out" and now all of a sudden it was no big deal? Given the circumstances, Sam was handling this a little too well. The repressed bastard. He probably liked it. He probably encouraged this.  
  
"I just regurgitated every meal from the past week," Dean spat, venom all over his tone of voice. "Do you really think I want food right now?"  
  
"Dean, at least open the door."  
  
Dean hesitated. Then twisted the doorknob, yanking the door open. Sam still stood there. Still naked. Dean didn't speak. So Sam did.  
  
"I'll let you shower first. You look terrible." The younger Winchester suggested. His brother didn't offer a reply, simply shutting the door in his face once again. Sam waited then heard the sound of the running water. He sighed, body still aching with fatigue, and struggled to make the few steps to the bed. He collapsed onto it, bare skin making contact with the cool sheets. They smelled of scents that Sam dared not guess. He was too tired and much too sore to care. As much as he wanted to black out and forget all about this, the pain that was present on his backside wouldn't allow him.  
  
Dean had fucked him.  
  
Big bro had popped his cherry.  
  
Dean fucked his little Sammy.  
  
Sam wanted to bash his skull into the wall as the thoughts plagued his brain. The sick feeling returned stronger than ever, but he fought it away. Attempted to focus on something else. He thought about how awkward the drives would be. The conversations. The hunts. Everything. Now matter how well Sam would try to handle this, he knew his dick-headed brother would just make things as hard as possible.  Sure he said, "Just forget about it" but Dean was probably standing in that shower agonizing over their current situation just as much as Sam. Dean was always the sex addict of the two. When there was no women around to screw, he would go straight for the porn. So what? With his drunken logic he decided that since there were neither women nor porn around he would screw his little brother instead?  
  
If only Sam believed that. As much as he wanted to put all of the blame on Dean, he had to remind himself that he drank too. He was a part of this. But maybe there was a rational explanation for all of it. Two men in their twenties on the road all the time like this. Different states every other day. Maybe there was something that they needed. Something they weren't getting enough of. Yeah. That was it. They were deprived. And all of it just came out. They were drunk. Disconnected. Unable to discern right from wrong.  
  
Swimming in his thoughts, Sam still laid there, face down on the bed. He hadn't noticed the shower turn off. Or Dean exiting the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, body still moist. He glanced down at his younger brother. Noticed his ass, fully exposed. He found himself staring at it. Then suddenly felt sick for the thoughts that came.  
  
Sam sat up, startled by his brother's presence. He just stood there, making no attempt to speak or walk away. Dean knew Sam had already seen him watching. He also knew that his younger brother saw his growing erection that the towel had no chance of hiding. Sam's chest heaved as he exhaled with a heavy sigh. Dean shook his head, turned and searched the room for his bag amongst the booze induced mess they'd created.   
  
"Dean."  
  
He heard his name come from his brother's mouth, breathy, almost a moan. Heard him get up from the bed and walk closer to him. Felt his hand on his shoulder. Whatever was about to happen made Dean tense up. The way Sam touched him. It didn't feel normal. He didn't know how to describe it. But it made him shiver. Made him drop his defenses. He realized that Sam was waiting for his approval. Awaited any sign that Dean could give him.  
  
Like he said. Repressed.  
  
He wanted this more than Dean did. And Dean fought like hell to hide it. Despite being fuzzy on the details, he remembered last night. Or at least parts of it. Like the parts that involved Sam moaning like a little bitch.   
  
Eyes shut tight, Dean nodded. "Do it."  
  
And that was how he ended up wrapped in his baby brother's arms, Sam biting at his neck. Then on the bed, Dean on top of him, trying to avoid the awkward eye contact, but unable to resist those hazel eyes. Dean exerted his dominance, putting all of his weight on Sam and pinning his arms to the mattress. Sam fought, but Dean knew he liked being restrained. Dominated.   
  
Definitely repressed.  
  
Despite being held down, Sam latched onto Dean's neck. More hickies to deal with, he thought. Dean's hands roamed his brother's body, eventually grasping his thighs, reaching under to push them upwards, allowing himself in between. The kiss was broken, interrupted by their breathing. Erections ground into each other. Sam made a little whimpery sound, something he didn't know he was capable of. He jerked his hips up, meeting his big brother's downward thrusts. Dean watched his body move in such a sexually stimulated motion, move in ways that screamed want. Lust.   
  
Fuck. He didn't have time for this grind and moan foreplay bull.   
  
Fingers were sunk into his younger brother. Sam was horribly caught off guard by the intrusion, crying out, body jerking suddenly. Dean smirked, pushing further into his sibling, exploring his insides more. Sam struggled to relax, allowing his used and aching hole to get used to Dean's fingers. And then suddenly his hips jerked upward. He saw another smirk on Dean's face. Felt irritation bubble inside him because of his brother's inherent entertainment at making him writhe like a bitch in heat.  
  
"There it is." Dean had hit his prostate. He withdrew his fingers without warning and there was the wet, obscene sound that his fingers made. Sam winced at the sudden emptiness.  
  
"Turn over." he ordered.   
  
Almost instinctively, Sam wanted to protest but Dean saw it in his face and quickly cut him down.  
  
"You're my bitch remember?"  
  
Another smirk came across his face. Sam wanted to reach up and smack it off. But instead he did as he was told, turned over and felt Dean press his weight into him. He looked down, using his elbows for support, forehead grazing the sheets beneath them. Dean was breathing hard and he felt it, warm and irregular, on his shoulder. What was he waiting for? Sam jerked his hips up, signalling his impatience to Dean. He smirked yet again, thought of making his little brother beg for it. Maybe Sam wasn't the repressed one after all.  
  
The impatience got to Dean as well and he plunged himself into Sam, who was still aching. Dean's hips pressed down, spreading Sam open even more and allowing him to take more of him. He bit his lip, stifled the most erotic sound that he had ever made. It barely even hurt now.   
  
"Yeah..." Dean chanted in an odd mix of pleasure and encouragement. Sam nodded for whatever reason. Maybe to coerce his brother to speed this up. The pervert sure was taking his sweet time.  
  
Dean obliged and sped up his thrusts, forming a rhythm. Sam gripped the sheets, body melting into the bed as Dean pressed his warmth deeper into him with every motion.  Sam felt the burn, clenched his teeth as Dean pressed into him some more, erection throbbing. His motions grew faster. More aggressive. Sam jerked his hips up and back, continually meeting every thrust from his brother. Dean saw the tension in his brother's muscles, the way he struggled to keep his head up, heard the sounds he made. "You okay, Sammy?"   
  
Fuck...  
  
Why did he have to say it like that?  
  
Rugged. Sex hungry. But most of all he sounded like he actually cared about whether or not Sam was in pain right now. Big brother instincts. They never went away even if that big brother was fucking his younger sibling. Sick. Just fucking sick.  
  
But Sam didn't care. Didn't possess the mental capacity _to_ care at this point. He just nodded, let his head fall and did nothing but feel at this point. Feel nothing but the throbbing inside him. And he let that feeling engulf every cell in his body. Dean took his brother's nod as a signal to go even harder, even deeper. Sam responded, getting tighter and warmer with each movement. Dean drove into him, rolled his head back, thighs quivering. They were sweating now. Sam wanted to feel more. So he pushed himself upward, slamming his back against Dean's chest, both of them now upright on their knees. Dean really started to thrust, shoving wordless groans from his brother's mouth. And then there was his name that he heard.  
  
Perfect. Hot and desperate and broken.  
  
Dean had to fight to maintain control. Keep himself from spoiling it all right then and there. Just a little longer. Just a little more. Sam wasn't as patient.  
  
"Fuck...Dean..." Another moan of his name. "Dean fucking MOVE DAMNIT."  
  
Dean clenched his teeth at the abrasion in his brother's tone. The sexual aggression. His entire body shook with their fucking. Dean offered up a response in the form of a breathy grunt. Sam didn't understand, snarled and pressed himself harder onto his brother. Still wasn't enough. He yanked himself away, slammed onto his back, opened his legs and pulled Dean right back into him. And they fucked like that. Face to face. It was fairly obvious who called the shots now. Dean liked being in control but if it meant pleasure like this then he was happy to let Sam take the wheel.  
  
Sam choked on his name again, body aching with the sheer violence of their movements. Dean struggled to maintain the ferocity in his thrusts. No matter what he did, Sam never looked completely satisfied. Just hungry.   
  
Once again. _Repressed._  
  
Sam yanked Dean closer and just felt his brother's face against his, felt their breaths against each other, felt their chests heave against each other's. Sam hissed through clenched teeth, maintaining eye contact that Dean avoided. He forced his brother's mouth on his and bit his lip. Dean pulled away, muttering his brother's name with a moan and Sam just enjoyed it. The way it was forced out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, felt the sweat drip from his face, and spread his thighs, still wanting more.   
  
Dean pounded into him. The bed shook as if it threatened to give out. But Sam still expected more.  
  
"Sam...." The tone he took only clarified that he thought his little brother was asking too much of him. But Sam was selfish. Still pierced his brother with those hungry hazel eyes. He wasn't asking anything. He was demanding.  
  
" _Move_."   
  
And Dean did. Fucked Sam with utter animalistic fury. Harder than before. Forced his brother open and buried himself to the hilt. Withdrawing to the tip then slamming all the way back in. Over and over. Sam clenched his fists, finally feeling what he wanted but still wanting even more. It hurt. But he felt the limit break. Something inside of him. And his release suddenly laid all over his stomach as well as Dean's. But neither of them stopped long enough to notice. Sam was still hard, still throbbing and Dean reached down to fist it, eliciting a guttural groan from his little brother. Fists firmly grasping Dean's shoulders, Sam watched him, saw him stare with those jade eyes as he fucked him. Dean grunted with every movement, harder and faster still, grabbing handfuls of Sam's hair, desperately needing something to hold on to. Sam growled, glared at Dean, demanding that he not dare let up. Not now.   
  
And then he came. Finally let go and unloaded everything. Sam watched every second of it. Watched Dean struggle to stay upright. Watched his body quake as he felt himself being filled. Dean moved frantically, forgot all sense of rhythm and just felt his release come hard and fast. It left him speechless, unable to move or even speak. Sam took over, yanked his now limp body into his and kissed him hard and aggressively, nearly bruising their mouths. Shaken bodies that just laid there now, crushed together. Limp and aching.   
  
A few minutes passed in silence. Sam finally broke it, calling out to his brother weakly. No response. Not even a twitch. Sam shook his head. The dick was asleep. He sighed and got up, wincing. Every muscle in his body sore, overworked. He trudged to the bathroom for a shower.


End file.
